


Butterflies.

by floatawaysomedays



Series: Before My Morning Coffee [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:10:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatawaysomedays/pseuds/floatawaysomedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of S9 timestamps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies.

Dean can’t believe he gets to have this, sometimes.

He can’t believe it when he makes the bed, and grabs two pillowcases. When he brushes his teeth, and the blue toothbrush is settled on the sink next to his. When the cap is left off of the toothpaste. He can’t believe it when he sets three place settings at the table, instead of two. He can’t believe he can have this.

The pair of blue eyes that greet him every morning still surprise him. The pair of boots that live next to his at the foot of the bed still incite butterflies that don’t make any sense. He doesn’t understand how Cas could want this, him, after everything he had before.

Being an angel must have been so much better.

He was an angel. Built with stars and fire and the night sky. As much as he hates to remember it, Dean has an idea of what Cas used to look like. He remembers the flashes of something beyond comprehension when he was in Hell. Bigger than life, and stronger than the waves crashing against the shore. Dean remembers the heat, and the warmth of Castiel tugging him upwards. Feathers surrounding him. He remembers being overcome by the feeling of it. Overwhelmed, and overjoyed all at the same time.

He remembers feeling  _loved_.

Dean never thought he would have that again. They’ve been unsteady on their feet for so long. And then everything was so broken, he never thought they could pick the pieces up. He assumed that once Cas fell, all of that would disappear with his wings. Burned up in ash and a cloud of smoke.

The heat and the warmth never left. Cas is like a human furnace, the fire of his Grace is long since extinguished, but he’s still as warm as Dean remembers.

They’re entwined together. Cas is lying on his stomach catty-corner in bed, his arms curled around Dean’s pillow. Dean has his head propped up against the small of Cas’s back. The sheets are twisted around them both, but Dean just can’t help the way he curls into Cas. The way he noses at the bumps on his spine.

He can’t help the three little words he lets slip against heated skin because he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it. He doesn’t think he can ever really get a grasp on what Cas has lost, or gained.

But the bed is warm, and Cas is smiling. Maybe he can’t believe his good luck, but he can try to hold onto it for a little longer.


End file.
